


Porcelain

by AtlasMothman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Injury, M/M, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasMothman/pseuds/AtlasMothman
Summary: This is just a tiny blurb I wrote one night thinking about how Will is the teacup in Hannibal’s metaphor.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 15





	Porcelain

Held delicately in hand, his contents are stirred and watched keenly. Hannibal takes a deep breath and savors the smell of warm body heat mixed with the lure of sweet berries. Intoxicated on the scent, he loosens his fingers one by one until the teacup slips from his grasp, falling to the floor. 

The teacup breaks with a cacophony and porcelain pieces scatter across cold tile as the liquid inside disperses. In the setting sun, it looks as deep and red as fresh blood. 

Hannibal finds no satisfaction in it.  
Then, he finds nothing but curiosity as the pieces retract, coming back together as if in reverse. The teacup mends and heals itself, but it is not the same as it was before: the cracks and broken parts are molded together like kintsugi. Instead of liquid gold, the streaks through the cup are various shades of red and pink and look sinful on the pure white of the porcelain. 

As he picks up the reborn teacup, Hannibal runs his finger gently around the edge tracing the blood stains. A jagged edge cuts through the pad of his pointer finger and he watches as his blood runs from deep red to light pink before intertwining with what little is left at the bottom of the cup. 

The small drop is lost, but he still brings the edge to his lips and hopes that the taste has changed.  
His eyes close, his throat swallows, and he sees pale blue eyes replacing the floral pattern of porcelain. He sees a small smile in the light pink of a particularly mended piece and wonders if this is their taste. 

He sighs. 

He hears Will Graham in the back of his head, warm, thick, and strong like a running stream in the midday sun:

"How does it taste?" 

Hannibal imagines that he meant 'we'.


End file.
